Epilogue
Heidi
The sun is dipping behind the hills, casting a glow over the patio. A cinematographer would spend four hours trying to rig this kind of light, but here, it happens for free.
I shift in the oversized wicker chair, trying to find a comfortable position for my belly. I’m due any day now. We decided not to find out the gender—Max’s idea.
“Heidi, you’re glowing.”
I look up to see Silvia looking impeccably chic in cream linen.
There was a time when I was terrified of her, but now, she’s calling me every morning to make sure I’m eating enough iron.
She’s already given me a list of girl names a mile long, and she’s spent the last hour doting on my nieces.
For a woman who always seemed so cold, she really does love children.
“It’s the humidity,” I laugh, patting her hand. “And the three cupcakes I just ate.”
She heads down to our yard. It’s full of life.
My sister Clara is by the pool, deep in conversation with Abigail and Natalie.
Michelle is nearby, laughing at something Henry said.
They all have drinks in their hands, but I’m sticking to water.
I’m the only one who can’t touch the alcoholic punch these days, but I don’t mind.
The world has moved on from #ForgiveMeHeidi. The scandal died down. Even Grace seems to have found her own peace; word is she was married before we even sent out our invites. She even sent a gift—a ridiculously expensive cashmere baby blanket with a polite, short note.
“You okay?” A pair of warm, solid hands settle on my shoulders. I lean my head back against Max, closing my eyes as he begins to massage my neck.
“I’m perfect,” I say.
We bought this place six months ago, a sprawling Mediterranean villa just a few bends from Will and Abigail’s place.
I still don’t know why I agreed to the televised wedding special.
Actually, that’s a lie—I know exactly why.
The network offered a figure that felt like a formal apology, and Max pointed out that we owed the public a “thank you” for the support that brought us back together.
It was the most grand, ridiculous wedding you’ve ever seen.
And it was my final production. I directed my own wedding, edited the final cut, and then I retired the headset for good. I spent years looking for the next big project, thinking I wanted a temporary family to manage for a season. I was wrong. I got something better. A permanent one.
Now, I’m taking a break. So is Max. He’s been busy renovating this place by himself. He mentioned something about politics the other day; I’m not sure if the public is ready for that, but we’ll see.
“Will’s taking bets,” Max whispers in my ear. “He’s got five grand on a boy. But I was thinking the Langford genes might win out. We should go all in on a girl.”
“We’re not betting on our baby, Max.”
“Alright, alright.” He sinks down, level with my stomach. He presses a lingering kiss to the fabric of my dress, right where the baby just kicked.
He looks up at me with that look—the one that used to make me panic and now makes me feel invincible. Everything is happy, healthy, and completely chaotic. Things have never been better.
I’m not the producer anymore. And Max isn’t the Lead. We’re just a family, waiting for our next chapter to start.
Max
The hospital waiting room is a sea of Carters.
I’m pacing the hall, my tie long since discarded and my sleeves rolled up.
My phone buzzes. It’s a notification from my student portal for a graded paper.
I haven’t told Heidi the full extent of it yet, but I’ve been quietly finishing a Political Science degree.
I’m tired of being the face of a brand; I want to be the voice of a district.
But that’s a conversation for a quieter night, once the nursery is settled.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor, Max,” Will says, leaning back with a smug grin. He’s holding a stack of fifty-dollar bills. “Just admit it’s a boy so I can collect my winnings and we can all go home.”
“You can’t beat the Carter genes,” Henry adds, reaching for a coffee. “It’s a boy. It’s always a boy. We’re a factory for sons.”
“Don’t say that,” Natalie says, swatting his arm. “I put fifty on a girl just to spite you.”
I check the clock. It’s been six hours. Six hours of watching the strongest person I know endure a type of pain I can’t even fathom. She sent me out twenty minutes ago because apparently my pacing was more of a distraction than a comfort.
I’m about to get a coffee when the heavy doors swing open. A nurse gives me a small nod. I’m through those doors before my brothers can even stand up.
The room is quiet, the harsh hospital lights dimmed. Heidi is propped up against the pillows, her hair damp and her face pale, but she looks beautiful. In her arms is a bundle of white fleece.
She looks up at me with a tired, triumphant smile. “Hey,” she whispers. “Sorry we didn’t call you back in. It was all that time of waiting and doing nothing, and then she just...arrived.”
I pause, the air catching in my throat. “She?”
Heidi nods, her eyes bright with tears. “Meet your daughter.”
I can’t speak. Heidi lifts her and I take her in my arms. She’s so small. Nothing like the heavy lumps my brothers produced. She’s perfect.
“I was thinking,” Heidi says, her voice thick with exhaustion, “we’d call her Amelia.”
“Amelia,” I repeat, testing the name. “Amelia Carter.”
I’m not sure how long passes as I stare at her. Eventually she starts to cry and then the nurse kicks me out to help Heidi try to feed her.
The waiting room is full now. Mom. My brothers, their wives, even Harvey.
“Well?” Dean asks when the silence stretches too long. “What’s his name?”
I look at the stack of fifties in Will’s hand, then at my mother.
“Amelia,” I say.
The room erupts. Will drops his money. Henry chokes on his coffee. My mother starts crying, and within seconds, so does everyone else.
The Carter family’s long-running streak of sons is officially over.
The End